Twenty-Two
by TheFoxinator
Summary: No one mentions Buffy's twenty-second birthday. Set around the time of 7.12 "Potential". Spuffy(ish)
1. Twenty-Two

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Not at all.

**A/N: And with this story, I break my curse of only writing three stories per series! Go Fox. **

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No one mentions her birthday. Not in the days leading up and not on the day itself.

January 19th passes uneventfully for the first time in eight years. No one is called for a higher purpose or expelled from school. No one loses their soul or their powers. No one turns into a demon or takes up self-mutilation.

They do what they always do lately.

They train. They research. They put patches on what's broken but can't quite be repaired.

At the end of the day, the Potentials tremble their way through the cemetery and finally fall to the floor in a cheap imitation of a slumber part. Half a dozen girls, and also Andrew, huddled up in sleeping bags and whispering amongst themselves, though the topic of their muted chatter is far from boys and nail polish.

Buffy leaves them there and slips onto the back porch.

They're waiting for her; Xander, Willow, Giles, Dawn, Anya, Spike, and a pink bakery box.

They eat cupcakes in silence. No one sings. No one gives out presents. No one makes any wishes.

"Twenty-two," says Spike, just after the clock finishes its final rotation of the day; when everyone else has turned in for the night and it's just the two of them, sitting on the top step and staring at the night sky. He says it in the appropriate tone of a person marvelling at the young girl of sixteen they'd known having become such a powerful woman.

"Yup," says Buffy. She sits with her elbows on her knees and her head turned away from him, though not in avoidance. "Catching up on you." She does turn then, and gives him a smile.

"Headed in that direction," Spike agrees. He smiles a small smile back at her. "And that was alright for you, then? Wasn't too disappointing?"

"It was perfect."

It was.


	2. Twenty-Three

**A/N: And a bonus! Are you surprised? 'cause I seriously am. I was sure this was finished until about eleven-thirty this morning. Go figure.**

**Minor spoilers for season eight. **

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The baby Slayers make a big deal about it.

A part of being the Slayer—_a _Slayer now, actually—is accepting that twenty-three probably isn't going to come. A normal person, a civilian, the sort of person they were but aren't any more, they might think; 'gee, wouldn't it be _neat _if I made it to a hundred-and-some like that lady on the Discovery Channel?'

It's pretty much the same thing.

There're streamers all over the mess hall, and a giant cake that some of the girls threw together, and Buffy gets more birthday cards than she can count. Xander and Dawn hover around the party, trying to stick close to her but finding it difficult to compete with a bunch of super-powered teenaged girls with hero-worship.

Giles sends her some books, because he's Giles.

She spends the evening smiling and being grateful and pretending she isn't missing her living room in Sunnydale, and her back porch, and Tara, and Anya, and Spike.

Willow calls her around midnight, and babbles about time-zones (Buffy knows Brazil isn't that different from Scotland, but she doesn't bother calling Willow out on it) and about ticket costs and about duties in Rio and Buffy's pretty sure the call is really supposed to distract her from the present that materialises on her floor. Kennedy grumbles in the background throughout the entire conversation, so Buffy's let Willow get away with being the good friend _and _girlfriend and is the one to close the conversation.

The teleported shirt still has the tags on it and the receipt says 9:34 pm.

She struggles to open the E-Card Andrew sent her way, but the donation to the Red Cross in her name is kinda nice.

When she goes to brush her teeth, Xander is in the hall on a return trip from the same. He gives her a minty-fresh grin, like something went really right and so she smiles back.

She lights one of the candles and lets it burn into a puddle of wax on the windowsill.


	3. Twenty-Four

**A/N: And the final one. Spoilers for the entire season eight, and the beginning of season nine. Here's me trying to justify the somewhat blurry timeline that comes with the comic territory. **

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"If I live another year," says Buffy, "I can rent a car."

Dawn shakes her head and continues her attempts to fight the bright pink ribbon from Andrew's present into place around Xander's forehead. "I'm pretty sure you have to be able to drive for that," she says.

"Oh yeah," says Buffy. She leans her face into her hand and stares at her free dessert. Applebee's is pretty much her best friend right now. "Who came up with that rule?"

"Eleven more and you can be president!" Xander offers cheerfully then looks around at the booth's other occupants, suddenly unsure. "Right?"

Spike raises an eyebrow when Xander's questioning look lands on him where he sits in the corner on the bench with Buffy. She'd been in the corner originally, and their elbow duel had been somewhat epic but ultimately impractical. "How 'm I supposed to know?" he points out.

"Yeah, Buffy! You could run for president!" Dawn grins at her, finding the silliness irresistibly attractive.

"And pass a law banning soddin' Harmony Kendall from television," Spike adds, scowling into his beer like just saying the vampire celebrity's name burned his tongue.

"Buffy Tries to Lead People, Part Two." The Slayer's gloomy tone is far different from the merriment around her. "There's a sequel I don't need."

Spike doesn't seem to mind much that she sort of snuggles up against his shoulder then, he just pats her knee under the table. If Dawn and Xander notice they don't say anything.

They probably don't notice.

"You gave those girls what they needed, pet. Just because they didn't like it doesn't mean it was wrong."

"Yeah. And it's nice not having to share you with your fifteen-hundred _other _sisters."

"Because they're the only ones I hurt." Buffy stares at the end of the table, at the place where they could have pulled up a chair for Giles, or Angel, or Faith, or Willow.

On the other bench, Xander and Dawn exchange uneasy looks. Buffy gives them an apologetic smile. "Sorry, guys. I'm being all bummer birthday Buffy."

"At least we aren't trapped in a house!" Xander points out.

"Hey!" Dawn pokes him in the ribs.

"Or, if we do get trapped, we have plenty of food."

"Yeah," says Spike. He peers over Buffy's head to survey the rest of the restaurant's occupants with an expression of dissatisfaction. " 'cause waitstaff always go down real nice." There's a muffled thump under the table and Spike scowls at Dawn as he reaches down to rub his shin. "That'd be a _joke, _Lil' Bit." Spike looks at Buffy accusatorily. "Weren't you supposed to teach her about humour?"

Buffy shrugs. "We got stuck on the self-defence and not letting vampires eat people lesson."

Spike glares at her for a while as she looks on innocently and after a bit he succumbs and reaches out to stroke her hair, though the motion is disguised as an adjustment to the plastic tiara perched atop her head. Not that the latter is much better.

Fortunately, whether by coincidence and by his own purposeful ignorance, Xander happens to be checking his watch at that moment. "If we leave now, we can still get in that annual birthday monster slayage I'm sure we've been looking forward to all year. I know I have."

Buffy and Spike wait on the kerb with the bag of presents while Dawn and Xander leave to fetch the car.

"How's a birthday slay different from a regular slay?" Dawn asks as they walk away.

"Well, first comes the traditional song," Xander replies. Buffy's pretty sure he says something about candles in orifices before the distance and nearby chattering party drowns out the rest of his reasons. Probably for the better.

Beside her, Spike lights a cigarette up with a _snnick _of his lighter. They stand in relative quiet for a few minutes, the pale blue smoke gathers around their heads in a foggy halo.

" 'm sorry," Spike says at length.

"You're who, now?" Buffy blinks at him in surprise. She's supposed to be sorry. It's kind of her thing these days. Sorry for estranging her friends, sorry for letting Angel take advantage, sorry for almost ending the world, sorry for ruining everything, sorry for Giles. Spike's been _amazing_, and should probably yell at her or something, honestly. She'd deserve it.

"Thinking that could have been a bit more exciting of a party."

He is right. Kinda. Willow's still ignoring her for the most part, and Andrew and Kennedy and Faith are busy cleaning up her mess. She doesn't even want to _think _about Angel. Of course there's still that hole there. That hole left by people who _should _be there, but couldn't even if they wanted. Tara, Anya, Giles…

But it's the best way it could be. She can't just wish her friends back to life, even if it is her birthday.

Buffy leans up against Spike, like the chill had gotten to her and he's actually got something to offer her for it. "Naw," she says. "Xander got some new accessories and I get to go stab things." She smiles up at him until his lips quirk up around his cigarette in response. "What more could a girl ask for?"


End file.
